An Honest Mistake
by PKtofuMaster
Summary: It was simple. Wirt only had two things to do this weekend: Finish his drama project and look after Greg. Then Greg drank the apple juice...which turned out to be apple cider. And the adults aren't coming back until Monday. Oh Crud.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note****: Wow, first child abuse story in the fandom. orz. Sorry. I had to do it...this is what happens when a plot bunny hits you at two in the morning. This is my first _Over the Garden Wall_ fanfiction, so any feedback is appreciated. :)**

**Thanks!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Over The Garden Wall.**

* * *

**6/6/15: Chapter 2 has been edited for better word flow. **

**4/22/15: Minor mistakes fixed. Corrections updated. **

**1/27/16: Chapter 1 has been edited for better word flow. There are certain additions to dialogue (i.e. interaction with Wirt's mother), but the premise of the plot is the same.**

**Thank you all for your kind reviews. :) I really enjoyed writing this fic!**

* * *

"-And don't forget to make sure Greg goes to bed by 8:30," his stepfather rumbled, looking extremely concerned as he stood on the doorway. Even though Wirt had been told the same spiel five times already, he nodded patiently.

"Don't worry!" Wirt said firmly. "I can look after Greg, no problem. Everything's all under control."

His stepfather only looked at him in disdain. "The last time you said that," he growled in a deep baritone. "Both of you ended up in critical condition at the hospital."

Swallowing hard, Wirt guiltily averted his eyes to his shoes. If Wirt hadn't woken up in time, he _and_ Greg could have drowned in the lake...and it had all happened on his watch. He should've known that obsessing over Sarah's tape was a bad idea. Some older brother he was.

Materializing between the awkward duo, his mother placed a reassuring hand on his stepfather's shoulder. "Now, dear, don't be so harsh on Wirt. After all, he did save Greg." She stepped closer, and Wirt felt her soft, autumn-brown eyes fill him with warmth. "You _will _look after your brother, won't you, Wirt?"

Wirt nodded confidently. "Definitely."

Looking quite unimpressed, his step-father grunted, then poked his head back into the house. "Greg! Your mother and I are leaving!"

The pitter-patter of tiny footsteps and a giggle resounded down the stairs before the young boy himself bounced over to his father.

"Okay!" Greg chirped. "Have a nice weekend!"

The man's intimidating eyes softened. "That I will, Greg. If you need anything, talk to Wirt. And if Wirt's not treating you the way he should-" He threw Wirt a threatening glare that shriveled the teen's insides - "Don't be afraid to let us know."

"Don't worry, dad!" Greg exclaimed cheerfully, completely oblivious to Wirt stiffening behind him in discomfort. "Wirt's great at taking care of me! See?" Pulling up his right sleeve, the Greg pointed at the tip of his elbow. "He gave me this band-aid when I tripped outside!"

With a final chuckle, the man ruffled Greg's hair before their mother fussed over them, straightening out Greg's crumpled clothes (Greg laughed at the ticklish sensation) and smoothing out Wirt's messy hair ("Mom! I'm fine!" he protested, ducking his head). But she looked unconvinced, watching Wirt with worried eyes. "Remember, there's leftovers in the fridge. Snacks and juice boxes are in the pantry if you get hungry. If anything important comes up, call us. You know our number."

"Wirt." His stepfather faced him sternly. "While we're away, _you _are solely responsible for what goes on in the house. If anything happens to Greg during that time-" He leaned in, and Wirt flinched, feeling the man's hot breath on his ear. "You will be held accountable." Without even a blunt farewell, his stepfather briskly whirled around, stalking down the dark driveway. His retreating form reeked deeply of lurking distrust.

"Goodbye to you too," Wirt muttered under his breath.

His mother's features softened. "Dear, please do forgive your stepfather," she sighed. "You know how he can get a little...neurotic...when it comes to these things. I'll have a word with him." Noting the unconvinced look on Wirt's face, she gazed at her son with sad eyes. "He really does care for you deep inside."

Wirt felt a lump rise in his throat, but quickly banished it, throwing his mother a weak smile. "It's okay, mom. Enjoy your wedding anniversary."

Tears formed in her eyes, and his mother choked, reaching out to rub one of his hands in comforting circles. "You're a kind boy," she whispered. "You're too kind for my own good..."

"Mom..."

With a small hiccup, his mother wiped her watery eyes. "Take care of Greg and look after yourselves while I'm gone, all right?"

Struck dumb for words, Wirt nodded.

Struggling to shoot him a last sad smile with trembling lips, his mother hastily hurried off, soon joining her awaiting husband. For a second, there was the rumble of an engine and a flash of bright spotlights...then his parents were gone, peeling off the cold, stone driveway.

Watching the car vanish around the block, Wirt quietly shut the door.

* * *

Next morning, Wirt stumbled down the stairs, stretching his lanky limbs with a yawn. Shaking off his grogginess, he headed for the kitchen, heating the ready-made porridge from the fridge in the microwave. Luckily, Wirt didn't have to wait long before light tapping punched the wooden stairs, and an excited Greg popped up, clutching his frog.

"Morning Wiiiiiiiiirt!" he called out enthusiastically.

His little brother's bright optimism was contagious, starting off the day on a high note, and Wirt smiled back. "Morning, Greg. Breakfast?"

"I'm hungry."

Trying not to roll his eyes, Wirt shook his head, sliding a full bowl towards his brother. At once, Greg pounced on it like a ravenous wolf, wildly seizing his spoon without abandon. In mere seconds, Greg began to stuff his mouth with porridge at a shocking pace.

Alarmed, Wirt reared back. "Greg, don't eat too quickly or you'll-"

Greg started choking.

"GREG!"

Wirt stumbled over to his brother's side in panic, but after another rattling gasp, Greg blinked, recovering from his bout of coughing. Exhaling in relief, Wirt slumped against the counter, dragging a hand down his face. "Don't do that! You almost made me worry for no reason!"

"You do worry about a lot of things," Greg chimed. "Maybe that's why mom named you Wirt."

"...Huh?'

"You're a _Worrywirt_!" Greg announced matter-of-factly with wide eyes, poking his older brother playfully on the shoulder. "Boop!"

Jason Funderburker gave a loud croak.

"I'm not a worrywart," Wirt defended. "I just want the house to be in _perfect_ condition. You know, before mom returns home-"

"With dad," Greg chimed in.

"...With dad," Wirt added somewhat lamely. Grim thoughts silently stewed in his mind. _He's not my dad. I already have a dad, and he's on the other side of the garden wall._

"Wirt?"

The elder brother absentmindedly snapped out of his brooding. "Hmm?"

Greg blinked innocently. "Why doesn't Jason Funderburker have any porridge for breakfast?"

"Because he's a frog. Frogs eat flies. And insects. Not porridge." Wirt looked at the frog. It gazed back somewhat sadly. "Sorry."

"It's okay, Jason! You can eat some of my porridge!" Greg exclaimed, pulling the bowl close. "Sharing is caring!"

"No, sharing is _not_ caring in this case," Wirt said firmly, pulling the bowl back. "You or Jason Funderburker might get sick, and I have _no _intention of driving either of you to the hospital today."

Greg paused, thoughtfully ruminating over this dilemma. "Then can I feed him frog food?"

Wirt relaxed into a smile. "Yeah, sure."

With a whoop, Greg leaped out of his chair, snatching the frog off the counter and over to his tank. Not too far behind, Wirt followed at his brother's heels, reaching up to fumble for the frog food from atop the bookcase. Gripping the cannister with the tip of his fingers, he gently handed it over to Greg, who eagerly poured in a generous amount. For several minutes, the two boys crouched by the frog tank, watching Jason Funderburker swallow the flies.

"So, um...Greg?"

Preoccupied, Greg continued staring into the tank. "Yeah?"

Shifting slightly, Wirt met his eyes very seriously. "I have to finish a project for drama class, and it's worth a third of my grade. Since it's due Monday, I'll be working on it in my room. If you need anything, just knock." Wirt gave him a warm grin. "Okay?"

"Okay!" Greg chirped in agreement. "Then I'm gonna go to my room and talk to my rocks! They're great pets!" he said excitedly. "...And that's a rock fact!" He added before running up the stairs.

_Well. That worked out better than I expected._

"Let's do this."

Muttering incoherent words under his breath, he plucked the glue bottle and popsicle sticks off the cabinet before sprinting to his room. Already, Wirt could almost _feel_ the trepidation crushing his shoulders, and he sighed.

It was going to be a _boring _day.

* * *

"...Fifty two..."

Wirt glued the end of the popsicle stick with trembling fingers. As if he were handling fragile glass, he stuck the flat wood onto the delicate structure and gently pressed it on with his fingers. The stick wobbled dangerously off the side, and Wirt held his breath -

But true to his luck, it stayed put.

Exhaling a relieved sigh, Wirt wiped his brow with aching arms, then picked up the fifty-third popsicle stick.

Drama class was required in highschool. Many students bemoaned that fact, complaining that the class was a waste of their time, but Wirt secretly enjoyed it. While he didn't necessarily care much for acting, he absolutely _loved_ perusing through the literature, whether it be Homer or Shakespeare. Most of all, Wirt found value in writing that his friends didn't seem to understand: each word built a sentence, each sentence crafted a page, and each page was an art of work - a sweet fruit born from effort and time.

Every year, the drama project was the same: _Create a 3D model based on a prominent work of art._

The project was supposed to be an inspiring piece of education for all highschool students, but in reality?

It _sucked._

For heavens sake, why couldn't they do something else? Or pretty much an assignment that was actually _normal_, like writing poetry? Wirt was no painter, much less a craftsman or woodcarver. Heck, even pottery was out of the question - he couldn't even mold dirt to resemble _anything_ even if he tried. He thought about slinging together a makeshift guitar, but someone else had already signed up for _that_ project...

Which left Wirt to construct this god-awful replica of the Eiffel Tower entirely out of popsicle sticks.

Joy.

Irked beyond belief, a disgruntled Wirt started the project with the air of someone who just wanted to finish a highly _unpleasant_ task. But the as more time passed, the more Wirt's over-cautious nature kicked in, and the more determined Wirt became to make a presentable model.

After what seemed like a few hours, there was a gentle rap on his door. Wirt squinted, completely absorbed by his task to answer the call. Briefly, he allowed himself a glimpse at the hand-drawn blueprint. _I think it's leaning slightly towards the left..._

A second knock interrupted his thoughts.

"Wirt?" Greg's muffled voice filtered into the room.

"Yeah?" he asked, eyes unwavering from the blueprint.

His little brother opened the door by a tiny crack. "I was saving Jason Funderburker from the trolls, and then the trolls got thirsty, so I found some really good apple juice. It tastes like sugar!"

"I see."

Curious eyes peered at him in the corner of his vision, and Greg waved the full jar around. "Want some?"

"No, I'm good, thanks." Wirt responded vaguely, lost in thought.

"No problem!" He barely heard Greg chirp before shutting the door again.

Reaching for another popsicle stick, Wirt squirted the glue with sticky fingers, then cautiously added piece after piece with painstaking consideration.

_ Stick, glue, paste. Stick, glue, paste..._

* * *

It hurt.

His arms and back ached painfully. Glue coated his hands and hair in a sticky mess. His throat, neglected from any food or water for several hours, felt uncomfortably dry.

But he finished it.

A magnificent minuscule replica of the Eiffel Tower now sat on his desk. Wirt's cautious gluing paid off; each side of the tower was smooth with no irregular bulges, and the tower was perfectly balanced and symmetric. Tracing over the smooth edges with a gentle finger, Wirt marveled at each painstaking detail.

_I can't believe I made this..._

A silly grin spread across his face.

He was done. Complete.

Finished.

"YES! NEVERMORE!" he crowed, spinning around in his wheelie-chair in a childish bout of excitement.

_I bet Greg would be thrilled to see this._

Drunk on his triumph, Wirt halted his chair. "Greg?" he called out, cupping his hands.

When Wirt heard nothing, he rolled his eyes and remained unfazed; his little brother was probably lost in his little world of imagination. Walking out of his own room with cramped joints, Wirt knocked on the door on the other side.

"Hey, Greg! I left you hanging, didn't I? Sorry about that; you want to grab something to eat?"

No response.

Puzzled, Wirt opened the door. "Greg?"

Greg's bedroom was empty. By this point, Wirt flew into a panic, instantly bolting down the stairs.

"GREG! Greg, this isn't funny," he shouted, desperately straining to hear a reply, a giggle, or even a tiny footstep - just something, _anything_ other than the cold silence that greeted his ears. Completely freaking out, Wirt was almost about to yell for his brother again when a crash echoed from the kitchen. Immediately, he Wirt scrambled onto his feet and darted over.

In the midst of fallen pots and pans, the clutter of silverware was hard to miss. To Wirt's everlasting relief, he spotted his brother in a heartbeat. Sitting on the floor, Greg was giggling himself silly, hugging an intricate glass jar to his chest like some priceless treasure.

"Greg!" Wirt exclaimed, bustling over in high spirits...but the relief was short lived.

Something was terribly wrong.

"Wirt!" Greg grinned goofily, tilting his head in a slightly lopsided angle. "You look funny. Did you always have a funny nose?"

Stumbling on small feet, Greg extended his arms like a butterfly, trying to pinch Wirt's nose, but underestimated the distance and tripped forward. With a yelp of shock, Wirt grabbed him, scooping him up before Greg could hurt himself.

"Woaah...the floor is s-spinning..."

"Greg, what in the world...?" Wirt muttered, absolutely perplexed. In response, his little brother only gave a silly smile before making another grab for his nose.

"Got your conk!" Greg erupted into uncontrollable giggles again before he frowned, gazing blankly into Wirt's face. "Your nose...," he slurred, wide-eyed. "It looks like a triangle..."

"Yes, my nose looks like a triangle," Wirt murmured absentmindedly, but inside, his mind raced at a furious tempo. Greg's behavior didn't make any sense. The laughing, maybe, but Greg was giggling himself silly at...well...everything. That wasn't normal. Plus there was the incoherent slurring, the stumbling around, the suspicious smell of his breath...It just didn't add up.

_Greg couldn't be drunk...could he?_

Wirt fervently tried recalling anything he could have eaten that might have been alcoholic, but drew a blank. Greg hadn't eaten anything in the past hour. Well, except for the time he popped by to drink the apple juice-

The apple juice.

"Greg, where did you find the apple juice?" Wirt demanded fearfully. Greg didn't reply, laying down on his back and opting to look stupidly happy. The empty jar Greg had been hugging caught Wirt's eye, and bending down, Wirt gingerly picked it up, twisting the cap off to take an experimental sniff at its contents. The bitter-sweet smell hit his nose like a freight car, and Wirt recoiled with wide eyes. Dread pierced his lungs, and breathing hard, Wirt slammed the jar onto the counter. In one fell swoop, he frantically wrenched open the pantry to scan its contents, desperate to be proven wrong.

But alas, his worst suspicions were confirmed when he noticed the unopened pack of juice boxes on the middle shelf: a shelf Wirt would've had no problem reaching for, but would've been an impossible feat for someone as short as Greg. Filled with icy trepidation, Wirt peered into the bottom shelf, where his stepfather stored his homemade apple cider.

One bottle was missing.

Cold realization snatched his heart.

"Oh no," he whispered. His eyes darted back to his brother, who had dissolved into another fit of giggling, and Wirt froze, feeling a chill trickle down his spine. "This is bad. _Really_ bad."


	2. Chapter 2

Before his mother had departed, Wirt had effectively braced himself for worst. Perhaps Greg would've dragged him off to see the elephants at the zoo. Or perhaps he would've tugged on his arm, begging _please, please buy me a popsicle_ at the merrily-tinkling icecream truck that came on Saturdays.

But watching his drunk brother teeter around like a new-born faun, Wirt didn't know what to do.

What was he _supposed_ to do?!

Damn it! He hadn't signed up for _this!_

Seizing his hair, Wirt scrunched his eyes shut. Complaining wasn't going to bring Greg back to sanity.

Think, he had to think. What _could_ he do?

Lying was out of the question. His stepfather would instantly realize that one of his precious bottles was missing.

Leaving Greg to his own devices was a terrible idea too. Who knew what trouble the little boy could find himself in?

Oblivious to his brother's mental breakdown, Greg giggled uncontrollably, making imaginary snow angels on the marble tiles without a single care in the world. "Look at me, Wirt! This is so much fun! Wheeee!"

It hit him. Wirt's eyes snapped open.

The phone.

Wirt immediately darted over to the kitchen, groping for the cordless phone. Almost dropping it from his shaking fingers, he punched in his emergency contact at top speed. Frantic thoughts raced through his head.

_Don't worry, mistakes happen! Your stepfather would probably understand...and it's only natural to - yeah, no. You screwed up big time. Way to go, Wirt._

His hand abruptly halted at the last few digits, his cold fingers locking together in trepidation. Somehow, he managed to dial in the remaining numbers.

He waited...

And waited...

And waited...

**And waited...**

The phone clicked on in the other side, and Wirt blurted out his disorganized thoughts in panicked frenzy, clumsily tumbling over his words with numb lips.

"Mom, it's me, I-I...I'm sorry; I screwed up, and Greg-"

**"The person you are trying to call is unavailable at the moment. Please leave a message for the voicemail." **

Slowly, Wirt lowered his arm. He snapped the phone shut, hearing his heart thumping loudly in his ribcage. Breathing in deeply, he tried to steady his shaking hands in an effort to control himself.

He wasn't going to be toast. At least not yet.

"Think, Wirt, THINK!" He muttered again, tapping his temples. He glanced over at the clock. Four O' clock in the afternoon. For now, he would have to wait. In the meantime, he should do the obvious, and keep a good eye out for Greg...

...who was no longer lying on the kitchen floor.

"Oh, no. Oh no, no, no, no!" Wirt stammered, striding over in a panicked daze. He rubbed his eyes. "This isn't happening to me; this isn't happening to me!"

He exhaled several panicked gasps before darting through the living room, flipping over chairs and checking under tables in his terror.

"Greg? GREG!"

"Bluebird~!"

Wirt halted in. Slowly, with growing dread, he let his eyes drift up the cabinet.

Of course, his little brother had managed to climb up the _tallest_ cabinet in the house.

_Why am I not surprised?_

Greg giggled, then furiously waved a hand down in his direction.

"Wirt! Imma bluebird like Beatrice!" He said happily. He flapped his arms. "Tweet Tweet!"

Wirt stepped forward. "Yes, tweet tweet. Come on, Greg, let's get you down from - GREG!"

"WHEEEEEEEEEE!" To Wirt's horror, Greg had launched himself off the cabinet.

OH CRUD.

"NO!" Wirt desperately dove forward like a bridesmaid trying to grab the wedding bouquet.

Not a second too late. Arms quickly encased soft warmth. For a split second, time stopped, and their eyes met; upon noting Writ's relieved expression, Greg shifted in surprise before flashing him a positively radiant smile.

Then they fell.

A sickening crack. Wirt had managed to twist around, hitting the floor with his collar bone. A cry of pain escaped from hoarse lips as sharp agony stabbed through his screaming arm, and he blinked the stars out of his vision. But the desperate dive had paid off; Greg was curiously peering down at him, luckily nestled in the safety of his arms.

Greg's features instantly lit up in a bright grin. "AGAIN!"

Wirt wearily rubbed his bruised shoulder.

This was going to be a long night.

* * *

Wirt's fears were quickly realized. A giggling Greg effortlessly dived in and out of the rooms like there was no tomorrow, leaving all kinds of accidental mischief in his wake. Wirt had cleaned up puddles of vomit, rescued Jason Funderburker from the toilet, re-shelved all the books in his stepfather's room, snatched his mother's sewing needles out of Greg's reach before he could accidentally poked his own eyes out, then rescued Jason Funderburker from the toilet again before the dreaded call finally came.

But this time, the speaker was not his mother.

"...You WHAT?!"

Wirt winced at his stepfather's harsh bellow through the phone. It didn't take a genius to figure out his step-father was mad. Scratch that - his stepfather was _furious_. Bad things happened when his stepfather became furious.

"It was an accident! I-I didn't mean to..."

"You're darn right you didn't mean to!" The voice snarled through the receiver. With the sound of deep breaths like an enraged bull, Wirt could hear him trying to calm himself down. When the man spoke again, it was in a deadly quiet tone. "I've dropped your mother off at the hotel. I'm heading home right now. _Don't_ cause any more trouble."

The phone clicked shut abruptly. Knees knocking, Wirt limply slid down the wall.

But he had no time to dwell over his emotions; Greg's excited voice bounced off the hallways.

"WIRT! Catch me if you can!"

Wirt jerked out of his thoughts. "Greg! Stay out of my room!"

But the little boy was long gone.

_Wasn't alcohol supposed to make the drinker sleepy?_

Then again, since when had his brother ever been predictable?

Groaning, Wirt unsteadily stumbled after him. Lurching forward in the direction of giggling and suspicious scraping sounds, Wirt opened his bedroom door. Instantly, an unpleasant surprise greeted him.

"Oh, no."

"Hi Wirt!" Greg chimed, tipsily swaying on his socks.

"No sudden moves...Just stand still, Greg. Let's stand still, okay?" Wirt croaked, carefully trying to keep his voice level. Greg giggled in response, but complied, curiously gazing at him with a blank smile. Behind him, the Eiffel Tower project wobbled dangerously on its supports.

"That's it...You're doing a good job, Greg..." Never keeping his eye off his brother, Wirt tiptoed closer. "Stay..."

Greg surprisingly stayed absolutely still; he seemed to be caught in some fascinated awe as he watched his older brother approach him.

So far, so good. One more step, and Wirt could move his project out of harm's way...

"Wirt? Watcha doin?" Greg suddenly asked, tilting his head. But as he did so, his right foot caught on a pile of Popsicle sticks. With a surprised look on his face, Greg slipped, the tip of his foot snagged onto the Eiffel Tower, which stoppled over with a horrible groan of wood. Wirt watched in horror as he watched his beloved project plunge off into freefall.

"No!"

Without second thought, the teen lunged forward.

A sickening crunch echoed against the plaster walls.

Still kneeling on the ground, Wirt closed his eyes, unwilling to see the remains of his hard work in pieces. The object in his arms stirred, and Greg happily popped his head out.

"Wirt!"

"Not now, Greg," Wirt said quietly; his eyes had finally spotted the snapped ruin of sticks.

He didn't regret his split-second decision: Greg could've gotten seriously injured from the fall. Objects could be remade; people not so.

Yet, as he sat there, he couldn't help but feel bitter at the sight of his painstaking work destroyed in a fluke. Cold frustration finally broke free in a savage beast, consuming him and washing over his heart like a tidal wave.

Greg seemed to sense his cold fury, and squirmed, gazing at him frightened look. "W-Wirt?"

But Wirt looked into those scared brown eyes...and his anger died.

"Don't worry about it," he said quietly, picking up the pitiful demise of his project. "It wasn't your fault."

It really wasn't.

As much as he was resentful with what had happened, none of it had been Greg's fault. Sure, Greg had accidentally broken his project and caused all sorts of mischief, but that was only because he had been drunk. And Greg had only been drunk because Wirt had _failed._ He had failed to look after his brother again.

The familiarity of the situation hit Wirt out of the blue.

_What if Greg had gotten seriously injured?_

_What if I hadn't been able to catch him on time?_

A strangled sound escaped from his lips.

Without warning, Wirt had roughly seized his brother and pulled him into an embrace. The little boy froze in his visibly shaking grasp; Greg still seemed rather scared to know what to say.

"I'm so sorry, Greg," Wirt suddenly choked out, and his arms tightened around him. "It's all my fault, I'm so sorry I didn't check up on you earlier..." For some stupid reason, his eyes began to sting, and he blinked rapidly. "Dad's right, I'm awful at taking care of you..."

To his immense surprise, Greg reached up and patted him clumsily on the shoulder. "It's okay, Wirt!" He chirped, his voice somewhat muffled by Wirt's sweater. "I still think you're the bestest brother ever. Love you." Yawning, Greg rubbed his eyes drowsily. "And that's a rock fact." Without warning, his head drooped and the exhausted boy fell into his shocked brother's lap.

After staring at his brother snore lightly in his arms, Wirt finally hoisted the slumbering boy onto his back. Instinctively, he stepped towards Greg's room, but his hand froze, hovering over the door knob.

What if the Greg threw up again? What if Greg got a nightmare, but didn't have the strength to cry out for him?

Sighing, Wirt walked back to his own room. He carefully tucked Greg into his bed, making sure that the pillows were comfortably placed. As his older brother stood up, marching across the room, Greg squirmed, emitting a quiet whimper.

"Sorry," Wirt whispered, sitting next to him on the bed. He reached forward to gently ruffle his hair. "I won't go anywhere. And that's a rock fact."

A pause of hesitation.

"I love you too."

Greg leaned into his touch, snuggling up against him with a content sigh. Without moving from his spot, Wirt quietly dragged his desk in front of him. With his worries eased, Wirt began to work, starting from the very base.

Stick...glue...paste...

This time, he didn't forget to check on his snoozing brother every few seconds.

* * *

Taking hurried glimpses of Greg's smiling form curled up next to him seemed to make the time pass quicker, and in no time, Wirt finally heard car tires smoothly slide over the gravel driveway in wee hours of the morning.

Reluctantly, Wirt budged from his nightly vigil. Ruffling Greg's hair one last time, he quietly slipped out of the room. As he shut the bedroom door, his stepfather trudged into the house.

"Sit down, young man," the man rumbled, steering him into his study. "I believe we need to _talk."_

The door swung shut behind them with a steely _click._

* * *

Greg awoke, wide awake. Instinctively, he turned to the side, ready to greet his frog.

"Good morning, Jason Funderburker!"

Except instead of a tank, a complete mini replica of the Eiffel tower towered over the desk.

Bewildered, Greg sat up. "Hey! This isn't my room."

Flashes of memories passed. A reassuring voice...his brother tucking him in...Wirt!

A warm feeling bubbled up inside his gut. Greg had been feeling strangely ditzy, well ditzier than normal, and his older brother had taken care of him. Even when Greg had thrown up. A lot. Even thinking about the unpleasant sensation of vomit sliding out of his throat made Greg feel queasy, but the little boy suddenly jumped out of bed, a determined expression spreading across his face. He voiced his thoughts out loud.

"I'm going to find Wirt an' apologize!"

Racing down the stairs (only pausing to pop into his room and say a cheery good morning to Jason), he smelled a delicious aroma of scrambled eggs wafting from the kitchen. Greg couldn't help but grin. Greg loved those mornings when Wirt cooked scrambled eggs, because the elder brother would always let Greg draw smiley faces on them with ketchup.

Beaming, Greg burst into the kitchen. "WIRT!"

His brother flinched violently at the loud noise. He almost dropped the cooking ladle before he recognized his voice. "Oh. Hi Greg," he said quietly without turning around, eyes fixed on the frying pan.

"I'm sorry for throwing up all over the bathroom yesterday. I think I drank too much juice." Greg frowned. "And that's bad, 'cause I really had to pee a lot."

"Oh...that doesn't sound good."

Greg pouted. "Why are you such a grumpy grumps today?" He tugged on his brother's shirt. "Come on, Wirt! Say something funny! Oooh, do you want me to tickle you?" Greg abruptly stopped as something caught his attention. "That looks like it hurt a lot."

"Wh-What?" Wirt said startled.

"That bruise on your face." Greg pointed at the gruesome, purplish blue mark covering his brother's swollen cheekbone. He peered closely, clearly making his older brother uncomfortable. "How did you get that?"

Wirt opened his mouth, then closed it several times. "I, uh, fell. Hard. On the stairs," he said lamely. Wirt winced; he hated lying to his younger brother.

But some things were better left unsaid.

"Does it still hurt?" Greg asked in worry, misinterpreting the grimace. "I can get you a band-aid like you did for my arm!" He perked up hopefully, forcing Wirt to give a weak chuckle.

"It's okay, Greg," Wirt said softly. "Thanks, but I'll be fine." For some funny reason, his older brother looked much more concerned for his welfare. "Are you feeling all right?"

Greg shrugged cheerfully. "Eh, I feel a bit tired, but I'm mostly hungry." He scrunched his face into a grimace. "I'm not drinking apple juice ever again."

Wirt smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "No, apple juice is fine. Just stay away from the apple juice dad drinks. That's some strong stuff."

"Really?" Greg said excitedly. "Oh boy, I want to be strong! Can I drink it?"

"No!" His older brother shouted loudly, making Greg jump. "Sorry, Greg," Wirt said, sheepishly rubbing his neck in mortification. "But that kind of apple juice is...uh...special. It makes kids sick. Only adults can drink it."

"Can I ask dad when he comes back?" Greg asked hopefully.

Wirt tensed slightly, then turned his attention to the frying pan. "No." The sizzling of eggs punctuated the uncomfortable silence. "He stopped by last night to check up on you," he added abruptly. "But he left an hour ago to celebrate his anniversary with mom. They'll be back tomorrow as planned."

"That's fine!" Greg chirped, dancing on his toes. "I want to spend more time hanging out with you today!" His younger brother grinned. "Then one day, maybe I can be just like you!"

Wirt sincerely hoped Greg was wrong. He fervently wished that the innocent bright-eyed child in front of him would never lose his optimistic bright spark. Wirt gently set the scrambled eggs onto the plate. "Do you want to spread the ketchup for me?"

He couldn't help but give a genuine grin as Greg's eyes widened in eagerness. Cheerful clatter of silverware and bright laughter filled that Sunday morning.

Blissful was the unknown.

* * *

**Wow, that escalated quickly. The story was meant to be humorous, but I'm a sucker for angst and sibling bonding, hence the dark turn of events. Poor Wirt. :(**


End file.
